


Yellow Cross

by Wonkers (milkmadman)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Death References, Explicit Language, Gen, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkmadman/pseuds/Wonkers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short one-shot about the German brothers during World War One, with mentions of chemical warfare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow Cross

He woke up to a landscape that was grainy and gray and damp. The air tasted like smoke and smelled like piss, and the fresh heartbeat his head was too loud for him to stand. His red-rimmed eyes started to adjust to his scrambled surroundings.

“West?”

His brother was in front of him, counting out ammunition shells. He looked up, helmet pulled low over his eyes.

“Am I back in the trench?

“Yes.” He spoke briefly, and went back to his counting.

“What happened to our position?”

“We had to fall back.”

“We _what_?” he griped, letting his head thump back against the side of the trench. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, and the impact was as light as could be, but his vision still went white at the pain. He masked it with an annoyed groan. “It took us two fucking days to get that far. ”

Germany kept counting out shells. Prussia blinked several times, hard, trying to clear his head.

“Is it still the same day?”

“Yes.”

“How’d I get here?”

“I had to carry you back. You were . . . injured.”

“. . . Oh.” He’d put just enough emphasis on the word for Prussia to understand. “I died, didn’t I?”

Ludwig barely paused. “Yes.”

“Shit,” he growled, throwing his head back again, more carefully this time. “ _Shit_. Guess that was bound to happen sooner or later.” He ran a hand over his eyes, clenching his teeth. “It was the gas, wasn’t it?”

Germany didn’t reply, but Prussia continued, fingers kneading into his temple to stir up the memory.

“Yeah . . . yeah. I remember the alarm going up. And then . . .” His expression went vacant. He stared up at the blank sky, blinking slowly. “Then . . .”

He brought himself back down to earth with a violent shudder. “I couldn’t get the fucking mask on in time.”

“I know.”

“That shit killed me quick, didn’t it?” he said, with a shaky breath that barely qualified as a laugh. “I didn’t last long at all . . . ah, fuck – ”

Coughs had started to interrupt his words. They started off shallow, but then turned into wet, racking ones that produced blood on his hands. He stared down at his gloves disdainfully.

“Now that’s just annoying,” he muttered in disgust. He coughed once more and winced, a hand fluttering up to the side of his head.

“Brother . . . “

“I’m fine,” he groaned, holding his head in both his hands. “It’s just this fucking . . . headache. It feels like someone’s been bashing my brains out with a hammer . . .”

He paused, moving his hands around more carefully. He’d just noticed the lumpy material under his fingers. Bewildered, he pulled off one glove to examine his head with his bare hand, ignoring his brother’s protests.

 “This is a field dressing,” he gaped, after a closer inspection. “What the hell?” He found a congealed trail of something on the side of his cheek, too thick and clotted to be mud. He followed it up to where the bandage was stained a dark red and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. He’d barely brushed the wound, but the spot was tender enough to send jolts of pain shooting through his skull.

“What happened after the gas hit me?” he demanded, still trying to hold his head still. “Did pass out and hit a rock or something?“

“I shot you.”

Germany wasn’t meeting his eyes. It took several long minutes for Prussia to swallow the words.

“You what?”

“There was no other way to help you.”

“You . . .” He stopped and took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.  “ _Oh._ Christ.”

“Other soldiers have had to do that as well,” He spoke up, quickly, and glanced over at him, eyes glinting against the grime on his skin. “When someone gets caught in the gas and they’re suffering . . . it’s the most humane thing . . .”

“I know, West, I _know_ . . .” his expression tightened, still struggling for words. “I’m not . . . Look, I understand. You just shouldn’t have had to see me like that . . .” his fists were balling, his jaw clenching despite the pain it brought to his skull. “You should not . . . have had to _do_ that . . . I should have gotten that goddamned mask on – ”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He slammed his fists down into the bottom of the trench, making an unsatisfactory squelching sound. He spent a few minutes breathing heavily, unable to reply.

“You did the right thing, West,” He stated at last, slowly.

His only response was a small nod.

“Did you really have to get me in the _head_ , though?” Prussia asked, his tone sounding just exasperated enough to let on that he was kidding.

“Sorry. I couldn’t think very clearly at the time.”

“Thank god you missed my face,” he sighed, running a careful hand around the wound. He looked up at his brother and smirked. “Never would have forgiven you for messing up this priceless work of art.”

A ghost of a smile flickered on him. “Won’t happen again.”

“You bet it won’t. Aim for the chest next time or something.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an old black and white WWI movie. I saw it years ago, and I couldn't tell you the name of the movie if I tried, but one scene in particular stuck with me. A man in the squad had no time to get his mask on, and one of his comrades shot him out of mercy.
> 
> Yellow Cross, or "Gelbkreuz", was a chemical agent used during WWI, based on sulfur mustard.


End file.
